


Time After Time

by Crollalanza



Series: Iwaoi - Philos Series [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You about to tell me I’ve blossomed, Assikawa? That because Princess Tooru kissed me, I’ve stopped being a frog?”</p><p>“I’m about to hit you if you don’t listen to me!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time After Time

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write asomething for IwaOi day (April 1st) and found a prompt on tumblr which was 'things that shouldn't have been said'. Here's the result. 
> 
> This is part of the Philos series, but it's not entirely necessary to read them all to understand this. (You might like them, though)

It’s something that startles him, something he should have noticed before and put an end to it. But because of his nature - of who he is -  and because it has nothing to do with volleyball, Tooru fails to notice. This thing isn’t about  _him_ , after all, and really it’s by chance he discovers there is a problem. When he looks back, he realises that although it started at the Miyagi Fair and the initial words were  _not_ his fault , everything since has only reinforced the issue (and that is definitely down to him).

***

 

There are at the fairground. It turns up every year in Miyagi during the summer, and Tooru is there, having invited his new best friend, Iwa-chan, to go with him.  (They only met two months before, but Tooru knows Iwa-chan’s his _best_ friend because they always have the _best_ of times together.)

He loves the colours and the stalls, winning a stuffed rabbit when he manages to throw six ping-pong balls into the bowl. Iwa-chan prefers the rides, the faster the better, not even stopping when he throws up his stomach contents, lurching off the tiny train that passes as a rollercoaster.

“Too much candy floss and hot dogs, Hajime!” his mother scolds. But after a swig of water, colour’s returned to his cheeks, and he’s eager for the next adventure.

“Something less stomach-turning, I think, Tooru-chan,” his mum suggests as she ruffles his hair.  Her smile tells Tooru she’s proud of him. Her side-eye to his friend, speaks another story. It’s not that she dislikes Hajime, but there’s always a feeling in the air that her son could do better than be friends with the Iwaizumi boy.

(‘He doesn’t have your advantages, Tooru-chan. Quite frankly I’m amazed he’s at the same elementary school as you.”

“He’s fun! I like him and I want him to come to the Fair with us.”)

Tooru juts his bottom lip out, and does his best approximation of Iwa-chan’s scowl. “I want to go on the space ride again,” he says, and points to the large rocket that zooms them up in air, then crashes them back down.

“Wouldn’t you rather sit for a while?”

He shakes his head and holds out his hand for some more money. With an indulgent sigh, his mother complies, but just as he’s accepting the note, he notices his friend has sat on the grass, now pulling out tufts and staring at his feet.

“I was just telling Hajime that we need to get back home,” his mother explains, and smiles fondly at Tooru. “He’s had a lovely time, though. Haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says sullenly. Then after a toe poke from his mum, Hajime wrinkles up his nose. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“B-but there’s still an hour left,” Tooru splutters.

“My mum’s tired,” Hajime mutters, and shrugs.

She gets to her feet, clutching her enlarged stomach with one hand and ruffling his hair with the other. “I’m not sure if it’s twin babies taking it out of me, or dealing with this tyke,” she says, smiling at Tooru’s mum. “Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow, Tooru-chan.”

“One more ride, Iwa-chan-obasan,” pleads Tooru.

“Hajime’s still looking green.” She laughs at the nickname, his charm beguiling her, but is still gesturing for her son to stand up.

“A stall then, not a ride,” Tooru begs and turns to his mum, fixing her with his most imploring look (big eyes and a mouth drooping downwards)  and adding slyly, “We can take Iwa-chan home, can’t we, Mama? Or ... he could stay the night. Then we wouldn’t disturb Iwa-chan-obasan, if she’s resting ...”

Put like that, his mum can’t refuse, especially as it will give Iwa-chan’s mum a chance to rest. And seeing the smile return to her son’s face, Hajime’s mum agrees. She hands over a little more money, not as much as Tooru currently has in his hand, but it will pay for maybe two more goes on something, or one more ride.

(It’s starting to dawn on Tooru that not everyone comes from a wealthy family.  He doesn’t care particularly, but it took five weeks for Iwa-chan to invite him round his house – a fourth floor apartment, as it turned out, that Tooru thought was brilliant because there was a balcony and a creaky lift and the noise of the street vendors below fascinated him.)

“NOT THE SPACE RIDE!” Tooru’s mum shouts after them as they scamper off. “Tooru, if Hajime is sick again, then he can’t stay the night!”

Promising they won’t, Tooru searches for something to do. He stares longingly at the candy-floss, but Iwa-chan shakes his head.

“Better not. My stomach’s still hurting.”

“Do you want to go on the train ride again?”

“Nah, let’s find something else.” His eyes narrow, and then he grins. “Haunted house, what about that?”

“Yeah!” Tooru’s eyes light up as they approach. They both know it’s not really haunted, but there’s a chance that maybe something exciting will happen and a ghost will appear, or a mummy, or a giant spider. Tooru’s not scared - not scared at all - because he has his friend by his side and this is an adventure.

The Haunted House is disappointing in some ways. There are no ghosts floating through them, but the fluorescent skeleton makes them both jump. Up the side of the wall, the sliding steps are hard to tackle alone, but when Hajime clambers on first, he holds out his hand and pulls Tooru up to him, pushing him up to the next level, then catching him when he slips, before finally they’ve wriggled on to the next floor.

Through a door on the left (after they’ve pushed a very fake spider’s web out of the way) there’s a red and purple room. It’s lit with fake flame torches, which flicker on rote. On the wall facing them are three mirrors.

“Huh? This is boring!” Hajime says indignant. “Who wants to look at themselves in a mirr-”

“Iwa-chan!  LOOK LOOK!” squeals Tooru, and grabs his hand. “Look at me! Look at you!”

“Why would I wanna ... oh!” He starts to laugh, giggling at the way their bodies have morphed beyond recognition. “You look really fat, Tooru-chan, and your neck – hahahaha – it’s so long!”

“Your head’s flat!” Tooru shouts. “Make a face. Go on, scowl, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime scowls, knitting his brows together and baring his teeth, and the face staring back is an ugly, scary, monster of a face, causing both of them to shriek with laughter and clutch their stomachs. Pulling him along to the next mirror, Tooru is further entranced to see them taller, with elongated bodies, but stumpy necks. The third mirror shrinks them. Their legs have disappeared and only their shoes can be seen, but their faces are wider, eyes like ponds, kind of ghoulish. Hajime’s eyes protrude and his nose spreads across his face. And in this room, where oddity is emphasized, where everyone looks funny, Tooru can’t stop laughing both at Iwa-chan and his own reflection.

 

“You should have seen the haunted house, Mama! It was so funny! They had these mirrors that made you look fat, or tall, or really wide, and Iwa-chan-” Tooru stops for breath as he tells his mum, when they finally make it back to her.  She puts down her phone, and flickers a smile towards the pair of them.

“Hmm?”

“Iwa-chan’s so ugly. His eyes were bulgy and his teeth-”

“Tooru!” she scolds. “Don’t say such rude things! Hajime is your friend. Apologise.”

Hajime gazes from Tooru to his mother, and then stares at his feet. His fists are clenched, and Tooru can’t work out why he suddenly seems so angry. Has he said something wrong?

“I was ugly, too,” he says, nudging him “Really fat, wasn’t I?”

His mum blinks, and then some connection goes off in her head. Packing up her bag, she hands them both more money, and tells them to buy one more ice cream or sweets, or whatever they want.

“No, thank you, Oikawa-san,” Hajime mutters. He swallows. “I don’t want to be sick again.”

She bends down to him, and places one hand on his cheek. “That doesn’t matter, Hajime-chan. You have as many sweets as you want.”

Tooru, watching from the side, doesn’t understand what’s happened, except his mum looks as if she’s sorry, and Hajime, despite being offered more sweets, is still angry (or sad, maybe) about something.

***

“Why the fuck did you suggest this place, Oikawa?”

“It’s the Miyagi Fair - we always come here, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, but it’s usually just us, or Mattsun and Maki. Why did you tell those girls we’d meet them here?”

Tooru smiles. “I thought it would be fun. They’ll scream on the rides and have to hug us. Just ... make sure you don’t eat too much candy-floss before you get on.”

“Ha ha, very funny, I _don’t_ think!” Hajime snarls, then he exhales, loudly, wearily. “Why am I here again?”

“Double date. Hani’s suggestion, and you’ll like her friend.”

“I won’t,” Hajime mutters. “I’m in the same class as Ishi-san. She’s a nightmare.”

“Pretty, though.”

“Is she? Can’t say I’ve noticed. She doesn’t have her trap shut long enough for me to look at her properly.”

Tooru smirks but decides not to say that they sound as if they’re made for each other. He’s also not going to tell Hajime that the double date was his suggestion because Hani had bugged him about going to the fair, but it hadn’t felt right without Iwa-chan.

The date goes well, sort of. Hani looks exceptionally pretty in a pale green dress, her glossy hair tied high in a ponytail, and as he predicted, she shrieks when they ride the roller-coaster. Ishi, just as cute but in more functional clothes of shorts and a shirt, makes no such moves, even when the cart buffets her straight into Hajime. She jolts away the first opportunity she has, but then, if Hajime had prepared himself, and trailed his arm along the back of the seat, instead of crossing both arms over his chest, then perhaps Ishi would have been more prepared to fall into him - and stay there.

 _He’s hopeless,_ Tooru thinks, and sighs indulgently. _Iwa-chan really should make the most of those broad shoulders and arms. He should_ -

“What are you thinking about?”

“Huh?” Tooru peers down at Hani, staring up at him as she snuggles closer. “Oh ... uh ... nothing.”

“You looked very happy, thinking about ‘nothing’. Tell me,” Hani murmurs, and then gives a little giggle.

(He’d once said she had a beautiful laugh, so she laughs all the time, which he now finds annoying.)

“Volleyball,” he says evenly. “I was thinking about volleyball.”

He sees the pout on her lips, and a slight frown creasing her forehead. She smoothes her face into a more agreeable, pretty expression, but Tooru’s caught by the fact that her scowl is actually quite interesting, almost attractive.

“Where next?” Hajime asks as he helps Ishi off the cart.

“Shooting range?” she suggests.

And for a girl who had looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else than on a date with Tooru’s best friend, Ishi Tomaki looks almost cheerful.

“Sure!” Hajime grins at her. “Wanna teddy bear?”

“Bet I can win one first,” she declares, and crooks a smile back at him.

Ishi turns out to be a good shot, almost as good as Hajime. At least they leave the shooting range clutching a large toy each, with Tooru handing his silver unicorn to Hani – who predictably shrieks with laughter.

“Would your brothers like this?” Ishi asks, offering her giant Ninja Turtle to Hajime.

“UH ... well, they’re ten, so, maybe not. Oikawa...”

“Mmm?” he says, faking disinterest.

“Do you want to give these to Takeru?”

“He has far too much already, and my sister will kill me if I give him anything else. I thought you’d keep the dinosaur, Iwa-chan.”

“Nope.”

“Why not? It would look good in your room,” Tooru says, and smirks a little. “Iwa-chan has dinosaur posters on his wall.”

“Yeah, when I was eight!” Hajime protests. He hands his dinosaur to Ishi. “You have it.”

“Uhm ...”

“Oh, come on,” he says, scowling. “You can pretend you won it, if you want.”

“Hey!” She thumps him on the chest. “I did win!”

“He took pity on you!” Hajime laughs. “Because you kept smiling at him.”

“I won fair and square,” she says, scowling back, then she laughs because she’s seen, just as Tooru has, that Hajime’s lips are twitching. “Take your bloody dinosaur away from me, Iwaizumi!”

“Nah, you have it. Please.”

Chewing her lip, Ishi peers at him from under her choppy blonde- streaked fringe and mutters something.

“Sorry? What did you say?” Hajime asks. He cranes his neck forwards, as does Tooru. Only Hani stays back, a guarded sort of smile on her face.

“We live in a flat,” Ishi says defensively. “I share a room with my sister. There’s no space, okay!”

“Oh!”

“So I bet you’re thinking why’s  she at somewhere like Seijou, aren’t you?” she says, now sounding aggressive. “My grandparents pay, all right.”

Oikawa raises his hands and steps back, but Hajime stays where he is.

“Uh ... fine by me,” he mutters and presses his lips together. Then he raises his hand, catching Tooru’s eye as he points to a building on the horizon. “I live there, Ishi-san. I don’t have to share a room, but that’s only because no one else could fit.”

“OH!” Ishi steps back, a confused set to her mouth, her gaze flickering from Hajime to Tooru. “I thought as you two were friends that you were ... um ...”

“You thought I was rich brat like him, yeah?” Hajime starts to laugh. “Nah, not at all.”

“I’m not a brat!” Tooru exclaims. He sticks his hands in his pocket, hating the fact that he feels curiously unnerved at the way Hajime and Ishi are getting on. An arm links in his. He’d almost forgotten Hani was there, but she is, and she’s tugging him towards another attraction.

“Haunted House!”

There’s a sticky silence hanging over the four of them. Tooru tries to think of something to say because neither he nor Hajime  have been back to the Haunted House since that first time – not even last year when Mattsun and Maki came along. And Tooru’s not entirely sure why, but Hajime’s made so many excuses, that for the past three years Tooru hasn’t bothered asking if he wants to retrace their steps.

“No, it’s a bit child-” he starts to say.

“Ah.” Hajime shrugs, and stuffs the toy dinosaur in the strap of his backpack. “Why not?”

 

It’s very tame, and much smaller than he remembered. The steps that slide into the wall aren’t fast, and he doesn’t need a shove to get up to the first level. There’s no fear of falling, either.  So Tooru helps Hani and waits as Hajime offers to help Ishi, stretching out his arm to pull her up. Ishi refuses, her expression making it clear she can do this herself, despite being not that much taller than Hani. Tooru’s puzzled at her self-reliance, for why wouldn’t she feel safe with Hajime there?  And he watches as Hajime retracts the offer and hauls himself up, muscles defined from the exertion.

“Room of Mirrors,” Tooru reads. “They’ve got a new sign.”

“Yeah,” Hajime opens the door, letting the others through before him. “Wonder if the mirrors are the same.”

“We’re not, though,” Tooru starts to say.

“Have you been here before?” It’s Hani speaking, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Well?”

“With Iwa-chan, yes, when we were kids,” Tooru explains, and lightly places his hand on her shoulder, steering her towards the first mirror. “This one’s the same, Iwa-chan. Look, I’m fat.”

“I’m tall!” Ishi shouts, standing in front of the second.  She totters a little, sucking in her cheeks. “My God, I could be a model! Is this what it’s like for you guys?”

“Why ask Iwa-chan? He’s a midget?”

“Oi!  There’s four centimetres difference, you prick!” Hajime jostles him away from the mirror.

“Five, Iwa-chan. You’re still the shortest on the team.”

“Hey, do I look like a Libero?  And you’re forgetting Mad-Dog.”

“Mad-Dog?” queries Ishi. “Who’s he?”

“Some kid with an attitude problem that Oikawa’s trying to lure back to the team. Reckons he’s our secret weapon.”

“He could be. He just needs a little bit of taming before we let him off his leash,” Tooru replies. “Which is where you come in, because I think – starting tomorrow – that we should –”

“Volleyball!” Hani raises her eyebrows and taps her foot. “This is supposed to be a date, Tooru, not a team meeting.”

“Sure, sure.” Stepping away, he links his arm with her, and together they check out the last mirror. “This one is the funniest.”

“I’m hideous!” Hani cries, and starts to laugh, her flurry of bad temper forgotten. “My eyes are ... bulbous. And where have my legs gone?”

“Ah, you’re still cute,” he assures her, and starts to gurn at the mirror, wondering if scowling or baring his teeth will make a difference.  “Iwa-chan, come and have a go.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says.

There’s something in his tone of voice, not angry, not bored, but something else, something distant, and that makes Tooru twist his head around.  Hajime’s not looking at the mirrors but at his feet, and his hands are furling and unfurling.  But still, Tooru doesn’t think he’s angry. He knows that because he knows his friend. He knows _his_ Iwa-chan.

“Where else?” he asks, pulling Hani back from the mirrors.

“Don’t care,” Hajime says. He breathes in, and then grimaces a little. It’s his way of smiling away a problem – something else Tooru has learnt over the years. “Food?”

They find candyfloss, Tooru pulling off tufts of it and feeding it to Hani, and all four of them sit for a while. It’s a little colder now the afternoon’s coming to a close, so Tooru drapes his sweater over Hani’s shoulders. Hajime is looking their way, but pretends he isn’t, and then lies back on the grass, using his dinosaur as a pillow, to catch the last few rays of the day. Despite his short sleeves, he doesn’t seem at all cold. Tooru knows he’d happily walk round school in a t-shirt during winter, if they’d let him, whereas Tooru shivers looking at him. He wishes he hadn’t given his sweater to Hani now, especially as she has a jacket as well.

“OY!”

Something hits him in the face. It’s Hajime’s hoodie, the one he’d tied around his waist.

“Have that, you’re shivering.”

Tooru arches an eyebrow. “I’m _fine_.”

“If you catch a cold before that practise match, I’ll knock your block off!”

“What happens if _you_ catch a cold?” Ishi asks, and it’s as if she’s actually interested.

“I play on,” he replies, and yawns. “I’m the brawn. He’s the brain. Can’t go upsetting the balance.”

Ishi edges a little closer. “Seijou’s Ace, isn’t that what they call out when they’re cheering you on? Go! Go, Hajime! ”

“Nah, they’re all cheering for the pretty boy. I’m too ugly for fangirls, isn’t that right, Oikawa?”

“I have never said ugly,” Tooru protests. “Maybe pl-”

Then he stops because Ishi is staring at Hajime with obvious admiration, and he finds himself looking at him through her eyes, seeing what she sees. It’s like seeing his friend again, without the benefit (or rather the distraction) of the past. This is not the boy of seven with over-large eyes and teeth too big for his mouth, or the young teenager, gangling and too thin for his features.

He has cheekbones defining his face, setting off the slant of his brows, and the once too-large eyes, now fit.

And his arms. His arms are _huge_.

“I have never said ugly, Iwa-chan,” he repeats.

“The rich boy sounds jealous to me,” Ishi sneers.

And as Hajime starts to laugh, swapping a joke with her, Tooru wonders whether she’s right.

***

_He has no idea about himself._

It hits Tooru softly, like summer rain, one evening when they’re in Hajime’s room. It’s been six months since the fair, six months since Hani dumped him because ‘all you talk about is volleyball’, and three since they lost to Karasuno. (That loss is bearable now as other things have become far more important. The boy lying on the floor stretching out his leg, pushing his knee in an attempt to regain fitness, is proof of that.)

Despite Ushiwaka’s scorn, Tooru knows he will play competitively again, at college and maybe after, but whether Hajime will is still in the hands of the gods, the doctors and Hajime himself.

The wardrobe door is open, and there’s a mirror attached to the inside. From his position on the bed, Tooru can see every move and every expression on Hajime’s face, in its reflection.

And what hits him is that Hajime only has _one_ mirror in his room. And it’s this one, not large, and set too far down for him to be able to look at his face. It’s more for clothes, Tooru guesses. Or maybe the mirror’s just never been moved since Hajime grew.

From where he is on the floor, he could easily glance up at his reflection, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes focused firmly on the wall ahead.

He’s been like that forever. Showers after games, where Tooru would flick his hair in front of a mirror, joined by Mattsun and Maki, Hajime didn’t bother. He would towel dry his hair, pull a face in the mirror, and finish long before the others, plugging himself into his iPod while he waited.

“Are you finished yet?”

“’Nother fifteen minutes,” Hajime says, grimacing. “I’m feeling good today.”

“You look it,” Tooru says, and licks his upper lip.

“Get lost.”

Even through the exertion, Tooru can see a deeper flush to his cheeks, and he looks uncomfortable turning his head away from Tooru’s scrutiny.

“Leave me alone, Oikawa. I want to get through this.” He winces and grits his teeth as he pushes into the stiffness and hurt.

“You’re not to overdo it,” Tooru orders, and getting off the bed, he drops to the floor, lying alongside him. “Stop now.”

Hajime’s sweating, and there’s pain swimming in his eyes, but his jaw is set. “No, I’m good.”

There’s no point in arguing. Well, he could argue, but then Hajime will try to headbutt him, and that might jar his knee, so he’s not going to force him to stop.

He’ll try something else.

“Do you know when it was I first started to like you, Iwa-chan?”

“Uh, dunno,” he pants. “Probably when I fell in that stream trying to catch sticklebacks. _You_ had a good laugh, anyway.”

Sighing, Tooru inches closer. “No, I mean ‘like’ you. As in when I first realised that I wanted more.”

Hajime slows the exercises, then speeds up, trying to ignore the turn this conversation is taking, but Tooru’s wise to him. “It was at the Fair. Do you remember? Ishi –san said I was jealous.”

“Did she? Can’t remember.”

“She was right,” Tooru murmurs, and lowers his head to Hajime’s arm.

“Jealous of me? Because of her? I don’t think so,” Hajime replies, and flicks his finger on Tooru’s forehead. “Let me concentrate.”

But Tooru won’t be deflected that easily. “I was jealous _of_ her.”

“Huh?”

“You were comfortable with her. You joked. You joked about _me_.”

As if realising that Tooru isn’t going to let up, Hajime stops and shuffles onto his side. “How does this relate to you realising you ... uh ... _liked_ me, Oikawa?”

“I saw you as she saw you,” he whispers, very gently blowing across the air between them and down Hajime’s arm. “All cheekbones and eyes, and arms. Such strong arms.”

“Ugly and plain, you mean.”

“No.”

“Yeah, you do.” He shrugs and reaches across to ruffle Tooru’s hair. “C’mon, Oikawa.  You’re punching below your weight here, and we both know it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s funny you talking about the Fair because I have other memories – different ones from you. Much earlier ones.”

Tooru catches his breath, wondering if finally things will click into place. An overdue explanation as to why he hates the Haunted House, perhaps.“Like what?”

“’Iwa-chan’s so ugly. His eyes are bulgy, Mama!” Hajime mimics, then laughs softly. “Do you remember that, Oikawa? At the Miyagi Fair. First time we went together.”

“Of course I remember. I remember every Fair we went to. But I was talking about the mirrors, and your reflection.”

“Yeah, but your mum didn’t know that. She assumed you were being honest – obnoxious as well, but mainly truthful, remember?”

“She told me off!”

“But she didn’t dispute it. And then when she realised that you meant our reflections in those mirrors, she shut us both up with even more sweets.” He rolls onto his back. “That was the first time I realised the difference between us. I mean the first difference not based on money. It doesn’t matter, Oikawa. I was an ugly kid, and I haven’t improved much. Plain’s about the best it gets, I guess. You’ve told me that enough times. But you don’t ... uh ... find me repulsive, so -”

That’s when he realises. That’s when it dawns on Tooru just how powerful words can be, which he should have known because he was the one making every motivational speech before their matches.  Jokes and teases have an effect on their target, long after the orator has forgotten. And now it becomes imperative for him to halt Hajime, not from the exercises, but his own insecurity. “Shut up!”

“What! I’m just being honest. What do I care?”he huffs.

“Shut the hell up!” he hisses, and leans over, pressing his body onto Hajime’s chest.

“Oikawa! Get off.”

“No!”

“I’ll fucking headbutt you.”

“You’ll fucking listen to me.”

Maybe it’s because Tooru doesn’t swear often that Hajime groans and doesn’t attempt to heave him off.  “Go on, then. Talk.”

He speaks swiftly, knowing Hajime won’t have much patience for this. “That day at the Fair – with the girls, I mean – you were ... not angry, but upset about the mirrors, weren’t you?”

“No.” But it’s a defensive no, a believe-what-you-want type of no.

Tooru ploughs on. “And you don’t look at yourself. You never have. You avoid them.”

“I don’t _not_ look at myself. I just can’t see the point in preening like you do.”

Raising his hand, Tooru touches Hajime’s face, ignoring his protest. “Because you don’t see what I see. Or what Ishi-san saw.”

“You about to tell me I’ve blossomed, Assikawa? That because Princess Tooru kissed me, I’ve stopped being a frog?”

“I’m about to hit you if you don’t listen to me!” He chews his lip, then smiles and leans closer, his mouth stopping within a millimetre of Hajime, so close he can feel the breath escaping from his lips. His other hand trails up Hajime’s arm, rubbing in the elbow crook, tracing small circles over his bicep.

“I have never wanted a girl as much as I want you,” he whispers. “And that’s not because you were there when I needed you. It’s not because we lost that match. And it’s not because of ‘us’, and our history, I mean, not entirely. You...” He kisses Hajime slowly on the lips, waiting for them to part before pulling away. “You are good looking, handsome, attractive ...” He smiles, hoping his Iwa-chan realises it’s genuine, before dropping another kiss on his mouth, sucking on his lower lip. “Delicious.”

Hajime resists momentarily, but then with a soft moan at the back of his throat, he parts his mouth. His arms (the strong, muscular _, devastating_ arms that wreaked such havoc for Seijou) creep around Oikawa’s waist and to his back, clamping him in place.

“Why are you flattering me?” he asks hoarsely. “You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, dumbass, you know?”

 _You think that’s what this is? A plea for attention?_  Tooru exhales, and flickers a smile his way. “You always say I’m shallow, Iwa-chan, so why would I want to be with someone plain?” he demands with false petulance.

“I never thought you were shallow,” Hajime mutters, and turns his head to the side. “Just out of reach.”

“Well, you caught me, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, and then his expression becomes intense, because this is like a match, where every point counts, and he doesn’t want to lose ever again. “You’ve caught me time after time. Just like you did in that Haunted House when I slipped all those years ago.”

“You haven’t slipped for years, Tooru,” Hajime replies, sounding weary, even as he holds him closer. “And you’re about to climb much higher.”

Tooru laughs softly. “The only reason I can climb at all is because I’ve always had you, Hajime.”


End file.
